They
had spent the day fishing on the reefs and now bore home the
choicest part of their catch.
They turned in through a picket gate and up a walk flanked by
flower-beds and outlined between rows of inverted glass bottles
set side by side, the Bahama idea of neatness and beauty. At the
end of the walk stood a cottage with wide porches hidden beneath
jasmine and honeysuckle and morning-glory vines.
O'Reilly's eyes were shining with anticipation; he yodeled loudly.
But there was no need for him to advertise his return, for at the
first click of the gate-latch a figure had started from the
fragrant bower and now came flying to meet him.
"Look, Rosa!" Jacket lifted the heavy string of fish. "We had
stupendous luck." But Rosa was in her husband's arms and neither
she nor O'Reilly had eyes for anything but each other.
"You were gone for ages," pouted the bride.
"You missed me, eh?"
"See! I caught the biggest ones, as usual," Jacket boasted. "I'm a
skilful fisherman and I talk to my hook, but O'Reilly sits
dreaming about somebody while the little crabs eat all his bait."
When this evoked no notice the boy shrugged in disgust and went on
around the house, muttering: "Caramba! You'd think they'd get
sick of so much billing and cooing. But no! I have to steal him
away and take him swimming or fishing if I want a word alone with
him.
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